The Traveling Kind Read online

  “Our facilities don’t stretch to include a bunkhouse,” she explained to Shad Russell. “There is a spare bedroom in the house you can use.”

  A mongrel cow dog trotted out from the shade of the house to greet her. The sight of the stranger climbing out of the cab of the truck changed the dog’s pace to a stiff-legged walk. The mongrel sniffed suspiciously at his legs but a low word from Shad started its tail wagging and a panting grin opened its mouth. Charley observed the dog’s acceptance of the new hired hand without comment and waited at the porch steps for him to join her.

  Leaving the saddle in the back of the truck for the time being, Shad lifted out his duffel bag and started toward the house. There was no hurry in his long stride as his gaze made a slow study of the ranch and its buildings. When his eyes stopped on her they held the glint of approval. The curve of her mouth softened under its light.

  “It looks like you and your brother have a sound, well-run operation here,” he observed.

  False modesty didn’t come naturally to her so she admitted, “We like to think so.” She turned to climb the steps. “Come in and meet my brother and I’ll show you where to put your things.”

  He followed her up the steps and across the porch floor, his footsteps an echo of her own. She pulled open the screen door and entered the front room with Shad behind her. The loud thumping of crutches sounded from the solitary downstairs bedroom.

  “Is that you, Charley?” Her brother’s voice called impatiently as the steady thud of the crutches moved closer to the front room. She opened her mouth to make an affirmative answer but he spoke again before she had a chance. “Damn it all! Where have you been all this time? You said you’d only be gone a couple of hours!”

  “It took longer than I thought,” Charley replied and would have said more but her brother appeared in the archway of the hall leading off the front room. When she saw him she didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or laugh at his predicament. A bulky plaster cast encased the whole of his right leg. His chambray shirt was half buttoned, the tails hanging free but not concealing the jockey shorts he was wearing. A pair of jeans was trapped in a hand gripping the crutch of his left side. Her brother stopped short at the sight of the stranger beside Charley, a dull red creeping up his neck.

  “Meet our new hired hand, Gary.” She just barely managed to contain the smile that was playing with the corners of her mouth. “This is Shad Russell. And the half-naked man with the broken leg is my brother, Gary Collins.” As she half-turned toward Shad Russell she caught the glint of humor that was quickly veiled.

  There wasn’t any way for her brother to gracefully get out of his embarrassing situation so he chose to ignore it. 44Russell,” he repeated the name in a searching way. “Are you from around here?” he frowned at his inability to place the name.

  “No,” Shad replied and volunteered no more information than that.

  “Why don’t you follow me, Shad?” Charley suggested, moving toward the staircase. “I’ll show you where you’ll be bunking.”

  “Good idea.” His lazy blue gaze slid from her brother to her, aware that she was rescuing her brother from an awkward situation.

  The door to the stairwell stood open. Charley preceded him up the steps and paused in the hallway of the second floor. When he stood beside her, there didn’t seem to be as much room as she remembered. It took her a second to realize that she was feeling the effect of his nearness, the breadth of his shoulders and the towering leanness of his height. She opened the door fronting the staircase.

  “This is the bathroom.” She unnecessarily identified the room, then pointed to the door below the washbasin. “The towels and washcloths are kept in there.” She saw his gaze light on the bottles of makeup and lotions on the surrounding counter and didn’t bother to mention that they would be sharing the facility. “You’ll have the bedroom to the right of the stairs.” He backed out of the bathroom doorway and let her take the lead.

  When Charley entered his assigned room, she found herself avoiding the area where the double bed stood. She walked instead to the closet. “There are extra blankets on the top shelf if you need them. There are some wire hangers in the closet for your clothes. Let me know if you need more.”

  When she turned, she realized he hadn’t been paying much attention to her. His gaze was skimming the contents of the room, skipping the furniture to inspect the pictures on the wall and the assorted knickknacks on the bedside table and dresser. None of them were special or out of the ordinary. Charley was confused by his absorption in them. When the silence ran on, his gaze shifted back to her. His mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile.

  “It’s been years since I’ve slept in an actual bedroom,” he explained. “I’d forgotten some of the little things that make it different.”

  Her glance ran around the homey room, suddenly seeing it through the eyes of someone who had spent most of his time in bunkhouses. The personal touches did stand out. She began considering the loneliness of his existence, then realized sharply that she was treading on dangerous ground. His life-style was one he had chosen. He had the ability to change it—if that was what he wanted to do, which it obviously wasn’t.

  “I’ll leave you to unpack and settle in,” she said briskly, moving toward the door. “Come down whenever you’re finished.”

  Without waiting for a reply she left the room and ran lightly down the steps in search of her brother. She found him, still half dressed, rummaging through her sewing basket, balanced unsteadily on his crutches.

  “Gary, what on earth are you looking for?” she asked with a hint of exasperation. He’d become almost childlike.

  “I’m trying to find the damned scissors,” he grumbled.

  “Scissors?”

  “Yes, scissors,” he snapped irritably. “So I can cut the pant leg off these jeans. I can’t get them over the cast and I’m tired of running around in a bathrobe. I want some clothes on for a change.”

  “If you asked me nicely, I might do it for you,” Charley suggested.

  He glowered at her over his shoulder. She stood with her arms crossed in front of her in silent challenge. His hair was a darker shade of brown than her own light color but he had the same hazel eyes. His build was heavier and carried more muscle than her slender frame, but a stranger would instantly guess they were brother and sister. Their resemblance was strong in other ways, too. Both possessed the same proud, stubborn streak that often produced a contest of wills, as now. This time it was Gary who surrendered.

  He sighed tiredly. “Would you cut my pants for me, please?”

  “Of course.” Her smile was wide and filled with warmth as she reached out to take the jeans from him. “The scissors are in the bureau drawer, not the basket.”

  Gary leaned on his crutches and watched her snipping at the leg of his jeans. “How come you hired this stranger? I thought we agreed to get one of the local boys.” It was a statement, not an opening for an argument.

  “They’re all working. When I stopped in at Frank’s to see if his son was available, this Shad Russell was there and asked for the job,” she explained how it had come about.

  “Where is he from?” he frowned curiously.

  “Here and there. I didn’t ask specifically,” Charley admitted.

  “What kind of experience does he have?”

  “His list of previous employers reads like the Who’s Who of the cattle business,” she replied dryly as the scissors sliced through the last bit of cloth. “Sit down in that chair and we’ll see if we can get your pants on.”

  Gary maneuvered awkwardly to sit on the edge of a straight chair, resting his crutches against the side. With the cast holding his leg stiff, it was a struggle working the jeans to where he could get both feet through the pant legs. When he could finally stand up again, Charley pulled the Levi’s the rest of the way up.

  “What you’re saying is this guy is a drifter.” Gary continued on with the subject as he succeeded in balancing himself on t
he crutches long enough to fasten his pants.

  “That’s right.” She returned the scissors to their place in the bureau drawer. “I didn’t think it mattered since we wouldn’t want him to stay past summer anyway.”

  “No, it doesn’t I guess,” he agreed. “What are you going to fix for lunch?”

  Charley glanced at the clock. It was an hour before noon. “All you think about anymore is your stomach,” she chided him. “As much as you’ve been eating lately, you’re going to gain twenty pounds before you get that cast off.”

  “You try dragging this deadweight around with you—” he gestured toward the cast “—and you’ll work up an appetite, too,” he retorted.

  “During these next six weeks that you’re convalescing, why don’t you learn to cook?” Charley suggested. “That will be one less chore for me to do.”

  The sibling discussion was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. Charley turned as Shad Russell emerged from the stairwell. His blue glance rested briefly on her, then shifted to her brother. Yet, in that second, all her senses were brought to full awareness.

  “I thought I’d take my saddle and tack to the barn, then have a look around,” Shad stated his intentions.

  “I’ll come with you and give you a rundown on our operation,” Gary volunteered, adjusting the crutches under his arms to hobble with the man. “Charley can get lunch ready while we’re gone.”

  A few minutes past noon, they sat down at the kitchen table to eat the lunch Charley had fixed. During the meal the conversation centered on ranch topics that ranged from work needing to be done to the cattle market and futures. Charley could tell her brother was impressed by the indifferent flow of knowledge that came from Shad Russell. His experience in the business was wide and far-reaching, yet it was revealed in a manner that could only be described as offhand. He had a keen and intelligent mind, able to discard ranching methods that didn’t suit their operation and discuss others that could be incorporated to improve their present system. There never was a critical comment from Shad, nor any attempt to force a suggestion on them. An idea was idly mentioned, discussed and judged on its own merits to be either considered or rejected by Gary.

  Shad Russell was becoming more and more of an enigma to Charley. He had traits she could admire in a man—his intelligence, his tact, and his quiet authority—but she never permitted herself to lose sight of the fact that he was a drifter. Today he was here, but he might be gone on the morrow.

  Dessert was a fudge cake that Charley had baked the day before, and strong black coffee. When it was consumed, Shad leaned back in his chair, stretching with the contentment of a man whose stomach is full. His dancing blue gaze swung to Charley and she watched again as a smile broke from the corners of his eyes, slashing lines in his lean bronze cheeks.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve sat down to a home-cooked meal, I had forgotten how good it can taste.”

  It was a sincere compliment with no attempt at flattery. Reaching out to her, it stroked her senses like a caress.

  All she could think of was that old adage: the. . . . way to a man’s heart is through his stomach

  Shaken by the thought, for she knew it wasn’t possible to permanently tame a wild thing—it would always revert to its old ways—she warned herself again not to become involved with a man who was only passing through her life.

  So she took his compliment and responded to it with a casual reply. “My mother was an excellent cook. I was taught by the best.” She rose to clear the table of dishes and paused to offer, “More coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” Shad refused with the same lazy smile in place. “I thought I’d spend the afternoon riding around to familiarize myself with the layout of the ranch. Is it all right if I take my pick of the horses?”

  “Ride whatever one you want.” Gary gave him complete freedom in his selection.

  When his departing footsteps became echoes in her mind, Charley paused in her stacking of the dirty dishes to glance at her silent brother. He was staring thoughtfully into space. A shooting twinge of pain broke his reverie and he grimaced, his hand reaching down to grip the hard cast encasing his thigh.

  “Have you taken any of those pain pills the doctor prescribed for you?” Charley eyed him in silent accusation, already guessing the answer.

  “No,” he admitted defensively. “I don’t want to start depending on pills.”

  “You want to be the big strong hero gritting his teeth in the face of pain,” she chided him.

  Gary changed the subject. “That Shad is a walking encyclopedia about ranching. I feel as if I’ve just spent an hour in school over lunch. That guy is sharp.”

  “Yes.” Charley turned back to her dishes, uncomfortable with the subject he’d introduced.

  “In a way, it’s a rotten shame he’s using all that talent working for someone else,” he remarked. “But I can’t help feeling we were lucky that you stumbled onto him. The man knows his business, I have no doubt about that. What do you suppose makes a man with so much going for him turn into a wandering fool?”

  “I really don’t know.” But she wished she did.

  Her gaze lifted to the window above the sink with its view of the barns and adjoining corrals. She saw Shad riding away and recognized the horse instantly. Dollar was a solid bay gelding without any markings except for a circle of white on his forehead the size of a silver dollar. He was the best all-around horse in the string, which showed that Shad Russell was a good judge of horseflesh.

  Chapter Two

  THE ALARM CLOCK went off precisely at five o’clock the next morning. Charley rolled over with a groan while her hand fumbled over the nightstand to find the clock and shut it off. The urge was strong to go back to sleep and ignore the strident summons but her conscience wouldn’t let her. She tried to push the sleep from her face without success and lethargically swung her legs from beneath the bedcovers onto the floor.

  Her eyes were heavy with sleep, opened to mere slits as she stumbled to the chair where her cotton bathrobe was lying. She slipped into it out of habit rather than conscious direction and made for the door. Outside her room, the second floor was quiet—nothing and no one stirring. Not fully awake, yet not sleepwalking, either, Charley drifted down the stairs in a hazy consciousness that fell somewhere in between the two extremes.

  By instinct she was guided to the kitchen. Her mind had memorized how to make coffee until she could literally do it with her eyes closed. When the percolator was plugged into the wall socket, she leaned back against the counter and let her head rest against the upper cupboard. Propped in a standing position, she let herself sink into a half sleep until the aroma of freshly perked coffee would stir her. But it was a man’s voice that roused her first.

  “Good morning.”

  Her lashes flickered long enough to give her a glimpse of the tall, lean man with crow-black hair and clear blue eyes as he came into the kitchen. She was too sleepy to be disturbed from her relaxed position.

  “Is it? I haven’t been able to wake up long enough to find out if it’s a good morning or not,” Charley murmured with her eyes closed.

  There was a pulsebeat of silence before the low drawling voice came back. “You need to be kissed awake.”

  For some reason the comment struck Charley as being pleasantly amusing and she slanted her lips into a faint smile. Then a pair of hands were on her waist, pulling her away from the support of the kitchen cupboards. Startled by the unexpected contact, her eyes flashed open to witness the roguish glint of a blue pair regarding her so steadily. Her hands came up to ward him off but when they came in contact with the muscled flatness of his chest, they lost their purpose. Surprise had tipped her head back, bringing it into line with the one bending toward her. Its movement slid her glance to the malely drawn mouth, hypnotizing her with its steady approach.

  When the warm possession of his mouth claimed her lips, she savored the heady glow of pleasure that swamped her senses. Her pliant body allowed itse
lf to be enfolded by the circling pair of arms and yielded to the dominating outline of his hard, male length. The drugging fire of his kiss spread through her veins and ignited a response that had her kissing him back. She was more than content in his embrace, filled with a sense of rightness that had no basis in reality.

  A coolness swept over her lips when he removed his mouth to end the kiss. More coolness was interjected between them as he allowed a space to be created. A little dazed, she blinked her round hazel eyes at him. She had been kissed by a stranger—a hired hand at that. She was confused about why she had permitted it to happen and why he had done it.

  He turned away from her, reaching for a coffee cup to be filled from the freshly brewed pot. “You’re fully awake now,” he observed.

  “Yes.” Awake to the needs of her body and awake to him—the sharply cut profile of polished teak, the sure touch of his hands and the lime fragrance of his after-shave. But most of all she was awakened by the searing influence of his kiss.

  “Would you like me to pour you a cup?” His sidelong glance was alive with knowledge of his effect on her.

  “Yes,” she repeated the affirmative, finally stirring from her position at the counter. “Why did you kiss me just now?” she frowned in wary demand.

  “Sheer impulse.”

  He turned to offer her the cup in his hand, that roguish male vitality glittering in his eyes as he held her gaze. He was still standing very close to her, fully dressed, so much more in command of himself and the situation than she was. “When I walked into the kitchen, it was such a domestic scene—the little woman in her housecoat and her caramel-colored hair all disheveled from sleep, waiting for her man to come downstairs for that first cup of coffee.”

  The reference to her appearance was accompanied by a skimming glance that prompted Charley to pull the cotton robe more tightly closed in front and comb her fingers through the heavy tangle of her hair in an attempt to bring it to some kind of order. The mocking glint of laughter in his look brought a trace of pink to her cheeks. Charley wasn’t sure whether the rush of heat came from anger of embarrassment—or the intimacy implied in his use of the words “little woman” and “her man.”